


Introductions

by rei_c



Series: Pan of the Preserve [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demigod Stiles Stilinski, Family Drama, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, POV Child, POV Stiles, Pack Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Stiles is five when he meets Aunt 'Rina for the first time. She smells like oak bark and cherries and Stiles sort of loves her.





	1. Aunt 'Rina

Stiles is five the first time he goes to Louisiana. His dad has just been appointed sheriff and, a week later, Stiles is diagnosed with ADHD. Stiles hears his parents arguing, hears the way his father pleads for his mother to wait, to give them time to settle into his new position before she leaves for three months. Claudia's a stubborn woman, though, and drags Stiles out to the car by his wrist. 

They fly; Stiles is fascinated by everything but can't help a shuddering cry when the plane from San Francisco takes off. His mother shushes him, puts an arm around him, says, "I don't like it either, my little Pan-ling, but we won't be off the ground for very long. And look! How many times do you think you'll get to be above the clouds?" 

"Only once," Stiles says, arms folded across his chest. He's grumpy, knows it, but there's something inherently panic-inducing about not being on the ground. He can't hear his tree and he can't feel the earth and everything about this is just _wrong_.

"Twice," Stiles' mom tells him. "We're flying home, too." 

Stiles bares his teeth and when his mom offers him a bribe to behave in the form of gummy worms, he holds off for five full minutes before eating them. 

\--

"Are we staying here?" Stiles asks, once they're on the highway. He's got his nose pressed to the glass, looking out at a city that isn't his, with trees that aren't like his and weather that definitely isn't like his. He's not sure he likes it. He misses his house and his dad and his tree and even though mom's got one of her sunflowers with her, it's not like Stiles had time to go and ask the tree for a leaf or twig or something to bring with him. He can still hear it complaining if he really listens; Stiles complains right back. "I dunno if I like it. There's too many people and it smells funny." 

Claudia laughs, reaches over and tucks a bit of Stiles' hair behind his ear. "Not here," she says. "This is New Orleans; I bet you learn to love it when you get older. Lots of people do." Stiles wrinkles his nose. There's too much concrete for him, too many houses and not enough grass. Grass might not be the smartest but at least it sings good music. "We'll be in the car for a few hours," Claudia goes on. "Most of it's on the highway but we'll go through a couple wildlife preserves and other cities." 

A few means three -- Stiles learned that in school -- and he's not impressed by the idea of even more cities but the wildlife refuges sound interesting. He wonders what kind of plants are in a refuge but doesn't ask because his mom's got that pinched look between her eyes, the one that means she knows he's going to ask about plants and doesn't want him to. Instead, he says, "You don't really talk about her very much. Aunt 'Rina, I mean. Do you like her? Is she nice? Have I met her before? Did she come when I was born? You said there was a lot of family there, was Aunt 'Rina one of them?" 

"She's sort of like an aunt and sort of like a cousin," Claudia says. "You know how your dad's in charge of the police now? Katerina's in charge of our family. She's very old, though, so always be polite." 

Stiles takes that in, fidgets with the button to push down the window. It doesn't go; his mom must have the child lock on. Stiles hates the child lock. He's not a child, he's _five_. "Yes," he says, "but what's she _like_?" 

Claudia takes a moment to answer him. "She smells like cherries and oak bark."

Other people might have thought that description strange, not an answer to his question at all. Stiles isn't like other people, though. It makes complete sense to him. 

\--

Aunt 'Rina lives in the woods and Stiles thinks that at least his aunt has the good sense to stick close to trees and away from cement. There are seven houses -- all of them two-story, with long porches -- grouped together around a circle of wild greenery: rushes and shrubs and tall grass and flowers. When they pull up, a couple people on the porches glance up, fix their eyes on the car. No one greets them when they get out of the car. No one stops them, either. They just watch.

As soon as his mom opens his door, Stiles traces the smell of oak bark and cherries to the farthest tree in the small neighbourhood, an old live oak placed between two houses and covered in kudzu. He goes right up to it, says, properly, "It's very nice to meet you, Aunt 'Rina." 

He waits, doesn't hear anything outright but feels like there's something happening behind him. Stiles turns around, looks up into the eyes of an old woman, her grey hair escaping her bun, her deep brown eyes fixed right on him. 

" _Bienvenue_ , child," she says. "How'd you know to greet the tree?" 

"Mom said Aunt 'Rina smells of bark and cherries," Stiles says. "I love cherries; they're one of my favourite smells. I don't smell like cherries but the tree does and you smell like the tree, so you must be Aunt 'Rina, too." He pauses, tilts his head, asks, "How can you be the tree _and_ Aunt 'Rina? Is this like what mom was telling me, about her sunflowers? Because sunflowers are cool but trees are better. They're stronger, y'know. And older. And bigger. And they mean more, I think. There's a tree in the forest out by us that means a lot but it's sad right now and sometimes I think it has the flu. Can you get the flu? I had the flu last year and I had to miss --." 

Aunt 'Rina puts a finger over Stiles' lips and chuckles when he goes cross-eyed, trying to see it. "Definitely one of mine," she says. "Actually, you remind me of my sister, your Aunt Vesna."

"Vesna," Claudia echoes, sounds like she's about to faint. "Do you really think he -- _Vesna_?" 

"You never said he was already getting emotional impressions from trees," 'Rina says. Stiles bounces on his feet, has a thousand questions to ask. "Or is it just one tree in particular, Claudia?" 

His mom looks guilty, says, "It's a nemeton." 

The smell of cherries goes wild, burning and boiling and hot enough to melt the roof of his mouth. Stiles looks up at the tree, wide-eyed, as its branches start to move even though there's no breeze. Aunt 'Rina's _mad_. 

"You waited to bring him to me until after he'd already started listening to a _nemeton_?" 'Rina asks, though Stiles thinks it's maybe one of those not-question-questions, like when dad asks him if he's done something bad but already knows the answer. Stiles has never understood the point of those questions. "I know what the nemeton in Beacon Hills is like, Claudia. It's _broken_. I don't want one of mine to bond with something that sick while he's still this young." 

"I was right!" Stiles says. "It _does_ have the flu!" 

Aunt 'Rina looks at his mom, finally looks back at Stiles. She crouches down, holds Stiles' chin in her hand, turns his head this way and that, prods at his lips to look at his teeth, gets nose-to-nose so she can sniff him and then look into his eyes. "Do you like the tree?" she finally asks. 

Stiles bites his bottom lip. "I don't not like it," he says. "But it's not very nice right now. Some of the stories it tells me are really scary. I mean, some of them aren't too bad but there's this one about a fox that kind of -- I have to sleep with the window open after so I can hear the grass. I'm not a wuss," he adds, in a hurry, "but it's just -- it's not like mom, it's so angry, and I can't blame it because what happened is really sad but it's --." 

"You'll have to tell me the story while you're here," Aunt 'Rina says. "Maybe we'll be able to do something about it. But, Pan-ling, you didn't answer the question. Do you like the tree?" 

"You called me Pan-ling like my mom," Stiles says. "Is that a family thing? No one else calls me that. No one else thinks I should know who Pan is, either. Why do you call me that?" Aunt 'Rina looks at him, just _looks_ , and Stiles fixes his eyes on the ground, mutters, "I don't have to like the tree; it's _my_ tree. And it's okay even though I kinda like the whole forest better. I think the tree would, too; it's lonely right now. It feels alone, I mean. I tried telling it that there were a whole bunch of other trees and plants and bushes right next to it but it can't find them even when they all yell at the same time." He looks back up, asks, "Why can't it find them? Is it -- is it more than the flu? It found _me_ ; do I make it better? Can I fix it? I took it some chicken soup but it didn't eat it, so is there something else I can do?" 

Aunt 'Rina stands up, offers her hand to Stiles, who takes it without even thinking. "You'll be staying with me while you're here, Dzarowit. Say goodbye to your _mère_ ; she'll be back to pick you up in ten weeks." 

"I will _not_ leave him here for --," Claudia starts to say. 

"You will," Aunt 'Rina tells his mom. "You ignored his heritage, girl, and lied to me about it, so now he's bonded to a broken nemeton and relying on _grass_ when he has nightmares and he's forging a connection to a forest that belongs to _loup-garous_. He needs to spend time with people who understand woods and trees and large tracts of land, not someone who fiddles with _tournesols_ because she's too scared to embrace her lineage." 

Stiles tugs at Aunt 'Rina's hand, says, "You can say my name." He looks up at her, then at his mom, who's watching them and looks a little sick. Stiles frowns, goes to let go of Aunt 'Rina, but she squeezes his hand tighter, her burnt cherry smell getting pulled under something terrifying and huge but also comforting, like that time when his dad threw a blanket over Stiles' head and Stiles couldn't find his way out. Stiles lets her tug him towards the house, and he waves at his mom over his shoulder. 

"Of course I can," Aunt 'Rina says. "And it's a lovely name. But you have to be careful about who knows it, Pan-ling. Names have power and ours more than most." 

"I tell everyone to call me Stiles. Grown-ups appreciate it but kids like me think it's weird. I like it, though," Stiles says. "It's a good name. It reminds me of my dad." 

'Rina pulls him along and Stiles trots happily after her. He doesn't notice that his aunt's feet never really quite touch the ground, leaving the grass beneath her untouched, springy in the humid air. He doesn't notice the same thing happens with him.


	2. Camille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has been in Louisiana for five weeks when he meets Camille.

Stiles is -- he's definitely not lost, because he'd only get lost if he went outside the root system of Aunt 'Rina's trees and that's against the rules and he does his best to not break the rules because Aunt 'Rina's punishments are the _worst_. Yeah, dad spanks him sometimes and mom -- she -- but Aunt 'Rina makes him sit still and _memorise_ things and, like, _sure_ taxonomy is important but it's so _boring_ and so is soil classification and why would he ever want to do anything wrong when he could be out playing hide-and-seek in the trees with his cousins?

Except maybe he was trying too hard to hide and now he _is_ outside of the root system? None of these trees know how to get back to Aunt 'Rina's house and his tree is too sick to help, which -- Stiles didn't know, exactly, that his tree was so special but Aunt 'Rina and Cousin Mel explained it all over supper that first night and he was too shocked to even finish his cornbread. His tree is _magic_ , like Aunt Vesna's grove back in Požega, and Stiles' bond with it is strong enough to cover the entire country even though his tree's sick right now. It's also the only reason he can travel: the tree's magic and Stiles has, well, power of his own, so with their bond it's like they're never really apart. 

Aunt 'Rina told him that lots of people want to bond with trees like his but no one tried with _his_ tree because it's sick. Cousin Mel told him he was an idiot and Stiles was sent to bed early without dessert. Dessert was cherry pie. Stiles _loves_ cherry pie. Aunt 'Rina's punishments are the absolute _worst_. And this time, Stiles thinks, it's going to be worse than just missing out on dessert. 

"Hi?" he calls out, reaching out for any listening plants, too. The grass tells him hi but it's not really helpful, so he ignores it for now and keeps looking around. "Uh. Anyone there?" 

" _Bonjour, bébé_." 

Stiles yelps in surprise, turns around and comes face-to-tummy with -- "Oh, man, you are, like, _so_ hairy." The man blinks, Stiles blinks back, says, "I mean! Not in a bad way! Just that you have, um, super impressive eyebrows. And beard -- your beard is like what Santa's beard would look like if it was -- is that _red_ hair? It looks sort of red. My favourite colour's red; I like it 'cause of Spiderman and tulips. D'you think tulips are pretty? My neighbour back home grows tulips but hers are yellow and they're kinda stuck-up like Jackson but the yellow ones always are. What are you?" 

The man smiles at him, says, "What do you think?"

Stiles tilts his head, deep in thought. "I dunno," he says, "but you smell like wet dog. Not, like, _bad_ wet dog, just, y'know, fur right out of the bath. Our neighbour -- not the one with the tulips, a different neighbour -- has a couple big dogs and you smell like they do when they've been outside in the rain. One of them," he adds, seriously, "likes to run and play near my tree. I could see you running into the woods, even when it's raining. Do you know any alligators? Mom said I had to watch out for alligators but Cousin Mel says they never bother us 'cause we smell like trees to them but mom was pretty sure I'd get attacked by an alligator."

The man laughs, reaches out to rifle through Stiles' hair. Stiles beams, pushes his head up into the touch, lets out a happy whining sound. The man stills, crouches down to his knees. "Ah," he says. "I see. You're one of Katerina's, _oui, bébé_? Let's go talk to her."

Stiles takes his hand, asks, "You know Aunt 'Rina? She's real old but she's nice. To me, anyway; I don't think she likes my mom very much 'cause she yelled at mom when we got here. Do you know my mom? Her name's Claudia but I think that's her name kind of the way Stiles is my name, which means it isn't _really_ her name, y'know, but it's the name that everyone else knows so she's safe. What's your name? Where do you live? Do you live in one of the houses near Aunt 'Rina? You don't seem like a house kind of person." 

"I ain't, _bébé_ ," the man says. He hoists Stiles up, doesn't flinch when Stiles makes a loud, screeching noise of delight, and settles Stiles on his shoulders. "M'name's Camille. Now, it's gonna take us a few minutes to get to 'Rina's. How many of these trees can you name?" 

"All of them," Stiles says, then says, a little less certainly, "most of them? That one's oak, like me and Aunt 'Rina! And that's cypress, like me and Cousin Leelee, and kudzu, like me and Aunt 'Rina and Cousin Daphne, and willow, like Cousin Mel, and --" 

\--

Stiles is about to jump down from Camille's shoulders when the man takes his ankle and swings Stiles around to the front, holds him upside down. Stiles shrieks at the movement, laughs when he has to move his shirt to see his aunt. 

"Aunt 'Rina!" he says. "I found Camille! Or Camille found me, I'm not sure. He introduced me to three different kinds of gum trees -- three! -- and we found a dogwood that was real friendly and I was gonna bring you a persimmon but I dropped it and the grass it landed on was happy to see it, so I didn't get Camille to pick it back up; I hope that's okay but the grass said thank you and everything so I didn't think you'd mind since you said we should always listen to the grass because it sees the most even if it don't stay alive for long."

"'Doesn't' stay alive, Pan-ling," 'Rina says. "Not 'don't.' Why did you drag Camille back here?" 

Camille tosses Stiles back upright, then sets him on his feet, winds fingers through Stiles' hair again. Stiles cocks his head, bares his throat and closes his eyes, sighing happily. "Need to talk to you," Camille says, "about the _bébé_."

Stiles smells burning cherries; he opens his eyes back up quick, stands straight the way Aunt 'Rina likes. She puts her hands on her hips, gives Stiles a look, says, "What'd you do this time, Pan-ling?" 

"Not his fault," Camille says. "But there's _merde_ coming his way if he don't know what to expect." 

Stiles tugs Camille's shirt, says, "I think you mean 'doesn't know,'" quietly, trying to help before Aunt 'Rina can correct Camille. "And what's _merde_? You know Aunt 'Rina's teaching me French, right? Is _merde_ French? Because even though I don't know what it means, it sounds French. Are you using it to keep secrets?" He looks at 'Rina, asks, "When can I know the secrets?" 

"When you're older," 'Rina says. "Why don't you go get Camille a drink. Grab him a bottle of juice from the fridge. And," she adds, giving Stiles a suspicious look that he doesn't think he entirely deserves, "you can have one, too." 

With a whoop, Stiles goes racing inside.

\--

Camille's sitting on the couch when Stiles tracks him down. 'Rina's in the living room as well, perched in the rocking chair, tips of her toes moving it back and forth, back and forth, in the same rhythm as the fan click-clacking overhead. Stiles gives Camille the bottle of juice -- something red and fizzy that Stiles loves but isn't allowed to have too often -- and sits down on the floor next to 'Rina, sets his own bottle carefully on the table. 

"All right," 'Rina says. "Now that the child's here, tell me what you've got to say." 

"He's wolf bait," Camille says, bluntly. "All the gifts of one of your kind but he ain't no fox, is he? He acts like pack. He's _brimming_ with it. Ain't never seen a human with the instincts he has, and he gives into 'em beautifully, just like a pup." He whistles, says, " _Bébé'_ s gonna be dangerous when he hits puberty, Reine. Lethal. If there're any alphas nearby, they'll be drawn to him. Wouldn't be surprised if they offer a mating without even realising what they're doing. And the betas -- Reine, please, tell me there's not a pack within four hundred miles of him." 

Aunt 'Rina purses her lips. "He's from Beacon Hills, Camille." 

Camille groans, lets his head fall back. "Hales," he says. "Those jumped-up British _couillons_."

That word sounds like secrets again and Stiles wants to ask, to make sure, but his eyes are fixed on the curve of Camille's throat, on the way his adam's apple jumps as he swallows. He has the urge to lick -- though it's one of those things that Stiles generally wants to do, so he's used to ignoring it. He thinks about it, about what Camille would taste like, about why he wants nothing more than to go over and lick the curve of Camille's jaw, press his nose to Camille's throat, feel Camille's hand in his hair again, and -- 

" _Pan-ling_ ," Aunt 'Rina snaps. 

Stiles freezes mid-step, looks up at his aunt. She's further away than she was before. He looks back around at Camille, eyes widening when he realises that he's standing toe-to-toe with the wet-fur man and that Camille is leaning forward on the couch and looking at him with eyes gone electric blue.

"Whoa," Stiles breathes. "Your eyes are blue. They weren't blue earlier. How did your eyes change? Can everyone's eyes change? Can _my_ eyes change? They're really pretty, y'know, like -- like the way the sky looks when you go outside after being in the dark all afternoon. Super bright? And very blue. Weren't they green before? Kind of like wet leaf green? Oh, man, lots of things about you are wet. D'you like being wet? Can you swim? How come your fur doesn't change smells when your eyes do?" 

"Wolf bait," Camille says, again. "Reine, I want to _eat_ him. And not for dinner." 

Stiles takes a step back, then another. "I don't think I taste good," he says, and keeps stepping backwards until he hits 'Rina's legs. "I'm real skinny and dad says I won't ever have much meat on my bones, but I think that's good, right? Meat's weird and I don't like it even though the tree does, sometimes. Maybe you should, um, not eat me? Please?"

Aunt 'Rina tugs Stiles up onto her lap, asks, "What do you mean, the tree likes meat?" 

"Oops," Stiles says. "I wasn't supposed to say that." He peeks up to look at 'Rina, gulps when he sees the way she's staring at him, lips pursed tight together. "The tree told me not to tell anyone, please don't take my dessert away; Cousin Fay's making bread pudding with _real cream_ tonight." A rumble comes from Camille's chest; Stiles gives him a wide-eyed look. "Are you a -- you're bigger than a dog, are you a _wolf_?" He turns back to 'Rina, says, "Is he a wolf? He wants to eat me and he smells like fur and you're not my grandma but he _did_ kinda find me on the way to your house and I've got my Spiderman undies on so I'm wearing red even if he didn't know that and -- does he wanna eat me because he's a wolf?"

"I don't know whether to start with the carnivorous tree or the fact that you figured out what I am within forty minutes of meeting me," Camille says. "Again, Reine. _Lethal_." 

Camille gets up and Stiles should be glad that it looks like he's getting ready to leave, especially as he wants to eat Stiles, but Stiles whines, deep in his throat, and feels tears start to fill his eyes. "Are you -- please don't go," Stiles says. He scrambles off of Aunt 'Rina's lap, goes right over to the wolf and grabs his leg, clings tight. "I don't -- you can't -- please stay, please, I'll be good; you can eat me, I don't think I need all my toes, d'you wanna eat one of my toes? You can if you stay, please stay." 

"Hush, _bébé_ ,' Camille says. He reaches a hand to the back of Stiles' neck, squeezes a little. Stiles goes boneless, hums happily, pushes back into Camille's hold. His dad does this sometimes and it always feels good but it's not the same, not like when Camille does it. Camille drops to one knee, says, "I'll be back; I promise. But until I am, this should tide you over." 

Stiles doesn't have time to ask what Camille is talking about before the man leans in, rubs his cheek against Stiles', tilts Stiles' head and runs his nose along Stiles' neck. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Stiles lets his tongue dart out, licks the closest bit of Camille's skin, throws himself into Camille's arms. "You promise?" Stiles asks. 

Camille holds him tight, says, "I would never lie to a pup," and then he's out the door. 

Stiles doesn't know why he feels so immediately lonely. Aunt 'Rina clears her throat and Stiles sees the way her eyes have gone narrow, guesses he's about to have every dessert for the rest of the summer taken away. 

"Aw, fudge," he says, then asks, "How do I say 'fudge' in French? It feels like it would be better in French." 

Aunt 'Rina laughs, stands up and takes Stiles' hand, leads him to the kitchen. "Tell me when your tree started eating meat, what you've been feeding it, and why it told you not to tell anyone," she says, "and I will."


	3. Renaud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks after meeting Camille, Stiles becomes pack.

Stiles is playing hide-and-seek with Cousin Leelee and Cousin Trish and it's not fair, it's so not fair, because they're in fox form and Stiles isn't, and they can run faster and smell better and can climb trees just like him, but Stiles smells like plants and trees and vines and they're trying to teach him to be clever, not to hide, exactly, so even though it's not fair it's still a lot of fun? He's hiding in a weeping willow, climbed way up to the top so the branchlets hide him and said hi to the couple of snakes also hiding up here, and Stiles is listening real close to see if he can hear either of his cousins when he hears something else instead. Stiles sits up straight, tilts his head to one side and smells --

"Camille!" He jumps out of the tree, says, " _Oof_ ," as he lands in a pair of waiting arms. Stiles blinks a couple times, shakes his head a little, then beams up at Camille. "You came back!" 

"And you jumped out of a tree," Camille says. "Do you always jump out of trees, _bébé_?" 

Stiles laughs, says, "Only when I know someone's gonna catch me. Hi!"

Camille bends, just a little, and rubs his cheek against Stiles'. Stiles makes a happy noise, ignores the scratch of Camille's beard, and tries to wriggle in closer. He whines when Camille squeezes the back of his neck, goes limp and boneless in Camille's hold, can't do anything but smile and laugh as Camille drags teeth across Stiles' throat.

"You weren't exaggerating," someone else -- a _guy_ someone else -- says. 

Stiles drops his head back even further, stares upside down at a man who's watching him with warm, brown eyes and a shaggy beard even more wild than Camille's. "Hi," Stiles says. "You smell like Camille. But more fur. Is that 'cause of your beard?" There's a laugh from the side; Stiles tilts his head enough to see Cousin Leelee leaning against the willow trunk, grinning. "Cousin Leelee! Look who I found!" 

Cousin Leelee shakes her head, says, "I think they found you, Pan-ling. Cousin Trish and I'll go back and let Aunt Kat know we've got wolves on the way -- if you're good." 

"I'm good," Stiles says, quickly. "I'm so good. I'm, like, the _most goodest_." He looks back at Camille, asks, "Can I ride on your shoulders again?" 

"Sure thing, _bébé_." 

Camille hoists Stiles onto his shoulders as Cousin Leelee shrinks back into her fox-form, bushy tail waving at him twice before she disappears into the brush. Stiles thinks he hears Cousin Trish yip at him as she goes, too. Stiles bends down over Camille's head, rubs his nose on Camille's forehead, then looks at the other man, says, "My name's Stiles. What's yours? Are you a wolf like Camille?" 

"Sort of," the man says. He flashes red eyes at Stiles and Stiles feels -- flattened. He whines, clings tighter to Camille, hunches over as much as he can, until his cheek's brushing Camille's hair. "Aw, chile, relax." The man closes the distance between them, strokes Stiles' jaw with the back of his fingers. "C'mon, little one, s'okay, c'mon." 

"I'm sorry," Stiles says. He can feel tears filling up his eyes, can't bear to meet the man's eyes but wants to make sure that the man knows how sorry Stiles is. "I don't -- tell me what I did and I won't do it again, I promise; I'll be good, I will, I --" 

The man gets his hands on Stiles' cheeks, rubs noses with Stiles. Stiles hiccups, tilts his head, and the man puts teeth to Stiles' neck. He doesn't bite, just lets his teeth sit there for a moment, and Stiles doesn't know if the relief filling him is because he almost got bit or because he didn't get bit. It's so confusing, he's so confused, and he whines again, a little. The man squeezes the back of Stiles' neck, says, "Hush now, pup, ev'rything's okay, alpha says it's okay." 

Stiles breathes, clings his arms around Camille's head. " _Alpha_ ," he breathes. "Camille, is that your alpha? Is he _my_ alpha? He is, isn't he, is he yours, too? Aunt 'Rina told me about packs even though foxes don't have packs but she knows a lot and I can't be in a pack that's not your pack, I can't, because we're pack, we have to be pack, you're mine, and I --" 

"M'name's Renaud, pup," the man -- Renaud -- says. "I'm Camille's alpha and yours too, if you'll have me." 

"Yes," Stiles says, instantly. "Yes, yes, yes, alpha, please, I'll be good, you can have my dessert if you want, an' my blankie an' --" 

Ren cuts him off with a laugh, ruffles Stiles' hair. "I ain't need none of that, pup," he says. "But I should talk to your auntie. And maybe you wanna ride me over?" 

Stiles frowns, because he's on Camille and Camille is _his_ , but then Renaud starts to shift like Stiles' cousins and aunts. Stiles watches, jaw dropped, as Renaud ends up a giant wolf, a real wolf, shaking out his fur. He's brown and tall and when he lets his tongue out, Stiles blinks at the sight of Renaud's teeth because _wow_ those look sharp. "Camille, oh my _god_ ," Stiles says. "Our alpha's a _wolf_." 

Camille lets Stiles clamber down off his shoulders, gets him settled on Renaud's back, and steps back, winks at Stiles. "Tell you a secret, _bébé_?" he says, and then _he_ shifts like Renaud, into a reddish-brown wolf that's a little smaller than Renaud. 

" _Oh my god_." Stiles sits up straight, stares at Camille, then Renaud, then back at Camille. "I have," he says, "the _best_ pack. Man. This is, like, the coolest thing ever. You guys are the coolest thing ever." 

Renaud twists his neck, licks at Stiles' ankle, then goes bounding through the trees. Stiles yelps, grips his legs tight around his alpha, buries his hands in Renaud's fur. He shrieks, at one point, as Renaud leaps over a branch, then screams when Renaud goes flying over the creek that runs along the back edge of Aunt 'Rina's tree's root system. Camille barks, Renaud lets out a howl, and Stiles starts laughing. 

\--

Stiles is still half-laughing, half-screaming when Renaud comes to a skidding halt outside of Aunt 'Rina's house. She's standing on the front porch and Stiles falls off of Renaud's back, tumbles a little on the grass, and he's about to pick himself up and go running for her when Renaud uses his teeth to pick Stiles up by the shirt. Aunt 'Rina's face goes narrow and pinched, her cherries bubbling, and she says, "You be careful with my baby Pan, alpha." 

"He will be," Stiles says, as he hangs from Renaud's mouth, as Renaud starts walking toward Aunt 'Rina. "He's my alpha, Aunt 'Rina, he's not gonna hurt me, I'm one of his pups now! Do you know Renaud? This is Renaud -- he may not look like it 'cause he's a wolf and how come you never told me Camille could turn into a wolf, either, I feel like you're keeping a _lot_ of grown-up secrets and you never told me how old I have to be to know them? Is it six? Can I know them when I'm six?" 

"You're not a grown-up at six," Aunt 'Rina says. "You have to be at least nine." Stiles stares and Aunt 'Rina says, "You're bonded to a nemeton, Pan-ling. If I don't tell you, your tree will." 

Camille, walking next to Renaud, trips. He shifts back human, sitting on the ground, and says, "You never said he'd bonded to a _nemeton_ , Reine."

Stiles swings in Renaud's hold, asks Camille, softly, haltingly, "Does that -- does that matter? That my tree's -- does it make a difference? Can I still be -- do you not -- my tree's not bad, I promise, and it's in California, it's not gonna --" 

Renaud drops Stiles in a heap at Aunt 'Rina's feet, shifts back. He crouches next to Stiles, rubs Stiles' back. "Still want you, pup," Renaud tells him. "Still mine. Okay?"

"Deal," Stiles says. He throws his arms around Renaud, holds tight, says, "You don't say a lot, do you? It's fine, dad says I talk enough for three people, so I can talk for you if you want and you can just tell me when to shut up, I'm used to it. My teacher always tells me to be quiet even when I have good questions but that's okay because mom takes me to the library and I just look things up there and there's lots of books here, too, which is great because I love books and Aunt 'Rina knows a lot about a lot of things and it's kind of amazing. Um. Just like -- just like you and Camille and being pack." 

Aunt 'Rina sighs but her cherries are frosted with winter sugar which is, like, the happiest she's smelled almost since Stiles got here. "Let the alpha breathe, Pan-ling," she says. "Invite him inside; Cousin Crissy brought over cookies." 

Stiles lets go of Renaud, scrambles upward. "Would you like to come inside, alpha?" he asks. "Cousin Leelee told me that Cousin Crissy's cookies are, like, _so_ good and I wanna try them and I think you should too. Uh. If you want." 

"Sounds good, pup," Renaud says. "Lead the way." He holds out a hand; Stiles takes it immediately and giggles when Renaud squeezes and follows Stiles past Aunt 'Rina, nodding at her, murmuring, "Reine. Thanks for the invite." 

"Your pup, my Pan-ling," Aunt 'Rina says. "Guess we'll be seeing more of each other now. Just remember, alpha: you're not the only one with teeth." 

Camille snorts, mutters, "Ain't no one forgetting that, Reine," and he brushes past Stiles, trails his hand over Stiles' shoulder on the way. 

Behind him, Aunt 'Rina says something and Stiles sighs, says, "More grown-up stuff. It's gonna take me forever to learn all that when I'm nine." Renaud laughs; Stiles turns a brilliantly wide beaming smile at his alpha, leans into Renaud's leg as they head for the kitchen.


	4. Cousin Jessica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At age 8, Stiles meets his Cousin Jessica, one of Aunt Vesna's children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple of references to an unposted fic but everything will still make sense. (I hope.)

Stiles comes running into the clearing in front of Aunt 'Rina's house, laughing and half-naked, kudzu wrapped around his arms and tangling with the braided birch-bark bracelets he's wearing. "Cam, no, no no no, I made it home, I'm safe!" A moment later, Camille -- in wolf form, shoulders as tall as Stiles', fur gleaming reddish in the sun -- comes bounding in behind Stiles. He's got Stiles' t-shirt in his mouth and he leaps, thwacks the shirt against Stiles' back. Stiles trips, goes tumbling down across the green, and Camille drops the t-shirt on him before doing a belly flop right onto Stiles. Stiles laughs, throws his arms around Camille and rolls them over, until he's lying on top of Camille, burying his face in Camille's fur. 

"Oh. Oh, _my_. You weren't joking, were you." 

Aunt 'Rina laughs. "Absolutely not, child. You're going to have your hands full." 

Stiles looks over, sees a woman standing next to Aunt 'Rina. The woman's wearing a ripped-up black lace top over a fluorescent yellow tank, a red flouncy skirt that comes to her knees, and a pair of black Converse. Stiles falls a little in love, especially when he sees that the ends of her brown hair, braided back into pigtails, are dyed a shimmery sea-blue. 

"Wow," he says. "You're _awesome_." Camille huffs, shifts Stiles off of him, and stands, shaking out his fur. "This is -- uh," Stiles says, about to introduce Camille but stopping when he realises that this new woman, she doesn't smell like anything. Well, she smells like _something_ , like pralines and Aunt 'Rina's soap, but not like pack or plants or trees, and she doesn't have even a hint of _bakkheia_ anywhere on her, not even her clothes. 

"Pan-ling," Aunt 'Rina says, even as Camille's got his hackles up, responding to Stiles' sudden trepidation. "Calm. This is your Aunt Vesna's daughter, Snješka, the one we were telling you about." 

It takes Stiles a second for him to remember -- that's right, it's been a month since he's gotten here; aw, fudge, it's already been a month, he has to go home in, like, six weeks -- but then he scritches Camille between the ears and takes off for his cousin. She throws her arms open a second before Stiles hits and she hugs _good_ , holds Stiles tight and sniffs his skin and scratches her nails right over the itchy part on his back.

"Call me Jessica," she tells him. "It's lovely to meet you, Cousin Stiles." 

"Hi," Stiles says. "It's great to -- thanks for coming for my mom, Cousin Jessica." 

She sighs, says, "For you, too, Cousin Stiles," and lets go. Stiles takes a couple steps back, nearly falls when he walks into Camille, but between his windmilling arms and Camille shifting to help steady Stiles, he stays upright. "This must be one of your pack?" 

"Camille," Stiles says, remembering just in time to use Camille's full name. "He's my beta. Well, I mean, he's _Ren's_ beta, but Cam's mine, so I kind of -- I know it's not normal, really, for packs, but I'm not exactly -- and Cam doesn't mind, I asked him, and Ren thinks it's funny -- he keeps calling me _caneton_ now which is, like, the _worst_ , because I'm not a duck and I -- oh, hey, can you teach me Croatian? Aunt Vesna's trying but it's super hard over email 'cause I never know how to say things and it's not like I can ask mom 'cause she's -- but you'll be right there and -- that is okay, right? That you'll be right there? I'm not the easiest person to get on with and Aunt 'Rina said that I'll be able to go over to yours whenever I need it but I don't want to bother you and --" 

Camille knocks Stiles over, putting an end to his rambles. Aunt 'Rina snorts and Cousin Jessica laughs and Stiles just digs his hands into Camille's fur and pulls the wolf down with him. 

\--

Stiles finishes the dishes from supper and lets out a sigh of relief. There weren't that many, really, and Stiles doesn't mind doing dishes -- he likes the hot water and the scrubbing and how sometimes when he pours out a little more soap onto the sponge little bubbles escape and start floating around everywhere. He just knows that Cousin Jessica's waiting in the front room for him to finish so they can get to know each other. And she has pralines with her. Cousin Emily's pralines. So yeah, Stiles is glad he's done with the dishes. 

He wipes off his hands, grabs two bottles of juice, and races to the front room. He slides in a little faster than he'd expected, feet evidently having gotten wet from the dishes, and careens to a stop at the sofa. "I'm done with the dishes!" he tells Cousin Jessica and offers her a bottle of juice. 

"So I gathered," Cousin Jessica says. She takes the juice, pats the cushion next to her, and Stiles jumps up, sits down and wriggles his toes. "You have a lot of energy, Cousin Stiles. Aunt Kat didn't tell me that." 

"A lot of the teachers at school keep telling dad I need to be on meds," Stiles says, "because they all think I have ADHD even though I know it's just, y'know, part of being a baby Pan 'cause we mature later than other shifters and magic users 'cause we're from a god and not just, like, made by a god? I guess? But no one here minds. I mean. You -- uh. You don't mind, do you? People at home mind because I'm not quiet and I don't like to sit still and my teachers try to keep me doing one thing over and over again which is super boring when I already know it and then I tell them that and they get mad and then they tell dad and _dad_ gets mad and -- but you don't mind?" 

Cousin Jessica elbows Stiles gently, offers him the box of pralines. "Of course not," she says, firmly. "You are what you are, Cousin Stiles, and what you are is a very normal baby Pan. Will you tell me about your dad? Or your teachers?" 

Stiles narrows his eyes, nibbling at the praline in his hand. "You mean mom," he says. "I -- what d'you wanna know?" 

"Whatever you feel comfortable sharing," Cousin Jessica says, "though Aunt Kat mentioned that you said her _bakkheia_ seems to be trapped?" 

"I dunno how to describe it, exactly," Stiles says. "Will you tell me about Aunt Vesna's grove?" 

Cousin Jessica shifts, settles back and puts the juice on the side table without having had any of it. Stiles glances at it, at her, sips his own and doesn't meet Cousin Jessica's eyes. "Seven trees," she says, "all of them black pine, all of them at least three hundred years old. Mother says that her grove talks with one voice, rather than seven, and that she has the voice of a singer, low and smooth and brimming with power. She's generous, offering her seeds and cones abundantly, and has the mind of an oracle, prone to dispensing wisdom in riddles. She has no innate magic of her own, preferring to use that of her bacchant, but she can store the magic of a thousand maenads in her branches and roots for Mother to use as she sees fit. Even though I'm not a maenad, she was kind to me," Cousin Jessica says, quietly. "Sheltered me when I needed it, tried to comfort me when I was upset, rejoiced with me when I was happy. I would never have bonded with her, even if I had been born clutching a fox pelt like my sisters and cousins, because she's my mother's, but I like to dream about it, sometimes." 

"She sounds nice," Stiles says, just as quietly. "Do you -- I wish you'd been born with mom's pelt instead. You wouldn't've been scared of it. Would you." 

"I don't know," Cousin Jessica says. "We can't know until we're in that situation. It's why we shouldn't waste time with questions like that. They don't serve a purpose except to make us sad."

Stiles bites his bottom lip, looks up at Cousin Jessica. "Mom's scared," he says. "I wish she wasn't. I wish she'd -- she loves her sunflowers, I think, but not like I love my tree or Aunt Vesna loves her grove. Or even how you love Aunt Vesna's grove. She just chose them because they weren't scary but now they aren't enough to help _her_ not be scared, so they're all -- they're all dying. I think --." Stiles stops there, looks back down at his juice. "I think it's going to be soon. Will you still -- after she -- will you stay?" 

Cousin Jessica reaches over, picks Stiles up and sets him on her lap, holds him tight and rubs her chin on his shoulder. "As long as you want me," she says. "I promise. Even though I'm not a bacchant, I'm still part of the family, so you know what it means that I'm making this promise, Cousin Stiles." 

Stiles sits there, finally leans into Cousin Jessica, inhales deep. "I like your hair," he says. 

She laughs, just a little, and doesn't say anything when Stiles starts to cry. Stiles doesn't say anything as Cousin Jessica cries, either.


	5. Taggart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is 11 when he meets Taggart, the pack witch. It doesn't go quite as he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy World Cup Day! Here, have a chapter a day earlier than anticipated.

Stiles wanders out of the pack house with a cup of lemonade in each hand, eyes fixed on the ground to keep from tripping. Renaud's on the porch swing and Stiles hands over both glasses to Renaud before clambering up and snuggling into his alpha's side. The humidity's thick today, mixing with the heat to make it hard to breathe like the air's wrapping towels fresh from the dryer but still wet around them. Stiles loves it. Renaud, not so much. Still, the alpha gives Stiles one of the glasses back and wraps an arm around Stiles' shoulders, pulling him in closer and rubbing his chin on Stiles' hair. Stiles makes a happy noise, does his best to cuddle in a little closer and ends up sprawled over Renaud's lap. 

"Oops," he says, looking up at Renaud with a pleased and completely unapologetic look on his face. 

Renaud rolls his eyes but puts his hand on Stiles' belly, palm sliding a little in the sweat. "Lost your clothes?" Renaud asks. 

Stiles widens his eyes, says, "Not -- not exactly? I mean, I know right where my shorts are -- Alfie told me it was okay to leave them there and Andy said he was just glad I had my boxers on -- but I don't know where my shirt is. I think I took it off after Cam tackled me into the river? I think we brought it back to the pack house -- I'm pretty sure we did but I can't be, like, one hundred percent sure because Cam was chasing me and then he gave me a ride and I actually may have had it on the whole time because Cam never really started to dry off even though Gia said that it would be a miracle if anyone dried off in this weather and that I didn't need to take a bath to get the river mud off, I could just wash it, because I'd come out of the bath as sweaty as I went in, which I thought was weird, right, because I wasn't going in to get off the sweat, just the mud, but I don't like rinsing you guys off anyway so I was okay with not taking a bath and so I figured I should just go along with -- are you even listening anymore, Ren?" 

"Not one bit, _caneton_ ," Renaud replies. Stiles rolls his eyes at the nickname but rubs his nose through the hair on Renaud's belly, sighing happily. "Gia send you out here?" 

"Yeah, with the lemonade," Stiles says. "Told me not to spill it 'cause then I'd _have_ to take a bath 'cause no one wants to send me home to Aunt 'Rina all sticky." Stiles pauses, can't help the worried note in his voice as he asks, "She wouldn't keep me from you, would she, alpha? Even if I did go home all sticky? Because I love Aunt 'Rina but you're my _pack_ and I thought --" 

Renaud puts a hand over Stiles' mouth, gives Stiles a look that has Stiles whining under Renaud's hand, tilting his head and baring his throat as he arches his back to give Renaud the full, vulnerable curves of neck and belly. "Aw, pup," Renaud says, taking the hand away, running his fingers through Stiles' hair. "C'mon, was just tryin' to calm you down. You don't gotta." 

Stiles licks his lips, then Renaud's hand, and settles back down. "She wouldn't, though, right?" 

"My pup," Renaud tells him. "Ain't no one takin' you from me. Even your matriarch."

"You can call her Katerina," Stiles says. "Or Kat, or 'Rina, like I do, or Reine like Cam does or even just my aunt? When you're in front of her, you call her Reine; why don't you do that when she's not here? Or you could give her a name of your own; she has so many that one more can't hurt." Stiles makes a face, says, "I'm glad I only have the two. Well, sometimes Scott calls me 'Sti' but that's not really a nickname, he only does that when he's having an asthma attack cause he can't say my whole name, you know? Or my whole nickname, anyway. And Dad calls me kiddo but that's not like an outside name, just an us thing. And he doesn't do it that much, just when he's --." Stiles stops, swallows hard. Renaud doesn't move so much as everything inside of him goes still all at once, muscles and breath and heart. Stiles whines again, says, "Sorry, I didn't -- he's not bad, not really, he's just -- it's been hard, y'know, on him, since mom -- since." 

Renaud takes a sip of his lemonade, keeps his eyes on Stiles. "Matriarch told me you wanted to stay here," he says. "Said you asked a few summers ago." 

Stiles looks away. "Yeah," he says. "If I could, I -- but I can't leave my tree. I wish I could have all of you but --." 

"Jess makes it easier?" Renaud asks, once it's clear that Stiles isn't going to finish his sentence. 

"She came here for six weeks over Christmas," Stiles tells his alpha, "and it was the _worst_." 

Renaud hums. Stiles gives him a narrow-eyed, considering look -- the one that Scott always complains about because it usually means that Stiles has figured out something he really shouldn't have and knowing it will probably get them in trouble, even though Stiles is good enough at that all by himself and sometimes he thinks Scott should refuse to go along with what Stiles has in mind even though Scott never does and generally makes whatever they're doing even worse because he has no stealth or ability to lie -- and asks, "Gia didn't send me out here just 'cause she thought you might be thirsty, did she. What is it?" 

There's no immediate response but Stiles didn't expect one. He sits up a little, drinks some of his lemonade, leans his head against the swing's armrest, and doesn't take his eyes off of Renaud. 

"Want you to meet someone," Renaud finally says. "But I'm gonna have to clear it with the matriarch."

"Who?" Stiles asks. "And why would you need to ask Aunt 'Rina for permission? You're my alpha." 

Renaud's chest rumbles at that, the noise that means he's pleased, proud, and Stiles hums, happy, knowing he made Renaud make that noise. Stiles always wants to make his alpha proud of him. He just wishes he knew what he did this time so he could do it all the time.

"She's still your matriarch," Renaud says. "'Til you ripen. It's only polite." 

"Okay," Stiles says, "but who is it? Who're we gonna meet?"

Renaud finishes his lemonade in long, slow sips, and finally says, "Pack witch." 

Stiles' eyes go wide as he gasps in delight. "I get to meet _Taggart_? Finally! I've heard so many stories. Oh my god, do I need to bring something? Is she gonna want some of my blood and hair? D'you think she likes cookies? I could help Cousin Crissy make some cookies, or a pie, or maybe some of Cousin Emily's calas? Does she really live in the swamp? Will I be able to meet some alligators -- oh, man, does she _keep_ alligators? Or what about snakes, does she have pet snakes? Will I need to pee in a cup; sometimes doctors ask me to do that but she's a _witch_ , it would be way more useful for her, right? I could maybe bring some lemons from my tree? Or just -- I could bring a tree! Would she like a tree, alpha? I could make sure it's one of the quiet ones." Renaud looks a little frozen, so Stiles sits up, gets his face a couple inches from Renaud's, asks, "Alpha? Why've you gone all funny? Is she -- do you think maybe I shouldn't bring anything for her? Except that seems a little rude, y'know? Aunt 'Rina says that I should always bring people something when I go over to their house for the first time." 

"How've you -- nevermind," Renaud says. "Cam told you 'bout her?" 

"And Jac," Stiles says. "And Bernard, a little, and Alfie, and one time I heard Winnie and Fee talk about getting something they call 'moon brew' from her so I asked what that was but they didn't tell me but they _did_ tell me about Taggart and -- should I call her Miss Taggart? Or ma'am? What's her last name? What kind of witch is she; is it family magic like mine or her own like Cousin Jessica or something nature-y like what that druid back home does or is it --" 

Renaud cuts Stiles off again, this time frowning, as he asks, "What druid back home?" 

"Dr. Deaton," Stiles says. "He's a vet. I mean, he's also a vet. I don't like him very much."

"Why not, pup?" Renaud asks. 

Stiles thinks about that for a second. It's kind of hard to describe, especially since he's really only seen Dr. Deaton in the grocery store or out on the street and that one time he came in to school to give a talk on animals and brought puppies and kittens and two snakes and a ferret and two gerbils and two hamsters and a macaw and a _hedgehog_ and he was soft-spoken and seemed nice and the animals seemed to like him, but. "He gave me a funny look," Stiles finally says, "and he smelled wrong. Not bad, just wrong. The tree hates him almost as much as it hates the wolves. And he wouldn't let me hold the hedgehog." 

"Has the matriarch ever explained emissaries to you?" Renaud asks. Stiles considers the question, shakes his head. "Emissaries are magic users attached to packs. Like Taggart is to us. They don't all gotta be witches. Some have family magic, some are mages or elementals or sparks, and some are --" 

"Druids," Stiles says. "Some are druids." He stops, then curls into Renaud, nose wrinkled, as the tree clings tight to him. "Dr. Deaton is the Hale emissary, isn't he. That's why the tree doesn't like him." 

Renaud holds Stiles close, safe, comforting. "He _was_ the Hale emissary," Renaud says, "when the Hales were still a pack." 

"Before the fire," Stiles guesses. He thinks back, the tree helping his memory along, and he says, "We didn't see him there that night. And if he was supposed to -- Taggart better be a better pack witch than Dr. Deaton." 

"Is," Renaud says. "Witches are, generally. Wouldn't trust a druid." 

Stiles bares his teeth, says, "Good," and finishes his lemonade. 

\--

Renaud's the one who takes him home that night. Stiles rides on his back, clutching his fur with fists and thighs, trying to keep the messenger bag slung over his shoulder, holding his shorts and shirt and a bottle of Andy's sweet lemonade, from bumping against Renaud's flank. It's too hot for Renaud to move fast and Stiles is probably a little too old and big to ride his alpha like this, but Stiles likes it and Renaud hasn't refused yet, so Stiles enjoys it while he can, saying hi to the bushes and trees they pass, squeaking a little as Renaud noses at a garter snake and nearly tipping off as Renaud dips the front of his body to sip at a creek he doesn't bother jumping over once he's done drinking. 

Stiles slides off once they get a little closer to home, walks next to Renaud, one hand buried in Renaud's fur and humming off-key. Renaud nips at him once or twice and Stiles dances out of the way as best he can without taking his hand off of Renaud. 

Aunt 'Rina's sitting on the porch steps with Cousin Mel when Stiles gets back, and she narrows her eyes when she sees that Stiles is being escorted by Renaud, rather than Camille, like usual. Cousin Mel just rolls her eyes and calls out, "There's no hope for you if your alpha can't even keep you dressed." 

"Ugh," Stiles says. "It's so _hot_ and clothes are the _worst_ and Cam dumped me in the river anyway, so everything's wet." 

"Everything?" Cousin Mel asks. "'Cause your undies don't look wet." 

Stiles grins, says, "Andy put them in the dryer. I have absolutely _no idea_ why he didn't throw the other things in, too. It's a conundrum." 

"Conundrum," Cousin Mel says, echoing Stiles with a flat tone of voice. "Sure it is, Pan-ling." 

Aunt 'Rina stands up and Renaud flows back into man-shape, standing next to Stiles with one hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Reine," Renaud says. "I'm here to ask your permission to take the pup a little further afield tomorrow." 

"How _much_ further afield?" Aunt 'Rina asks. She puts her hands on her hips, cocks her head, says, "Are you -- no. Not yet, he's not old enough yet." 

"He's pack," Renaud says, arguing without sounding like he's arguing. Stiles has tried the same thing but it never comes out right. "And she's ours. I'll be there; you can come, too, if it'd make you feel better." 

Stiles gives Aunt 'Rina puppy-dog eyes, says, "I'll be good. And you know Ren and Cam won't let anything happen to me." 

Aunt 'Rina stands there, thinking, finally says, "Pan-ling, into the house. Get washed up for dinner." Stiles opens his mouth to argue but stops when Aunt 'Rina's cherries start to char. 

"Yes, Aunt 'Rina," Stiles mutters. He kicks the dirt, gives Renaud a hug, and glares at Aunt 'Rina as he walks by, tells her, "I wanna meet Taggart and she's Ren's emissary and he wouldn't choose someone stupid like Dr. Deaton, okay?" 

"We'll talk about this later," Aunt 'Rina says. Her tone of voice is hard, but she rubs her knuckles on Stiles' hair and her touch is light, affectionate. Good. Stiles isn't in too much trouble for mouthing off. 

He goes inside, one more look at Renaud, and trudges up the stairs while the grown-ups argue. 

\--

The next week, Renaud leads Stiles, Camille, and Cousin Leelee through the woods. Renaud and Camille are in wolf-shape and Stiles isn't riding Camille so much as melting into a puddle on top of Camille, it's so hot, while Cousin Leelee -- in fox-form -- pads next to him, her tail brushing Stiles' leg every so often. Stiles is super excited, like, _so_ excited. He's just also sort of super hot and sweaty and sticky because the trees aren't letting the breeze come through their branches and they're doing it on purpose which is just plain mean. 

They've been trudging through the woods for forever -- or maybe about an hour, but it feels like forever -- when Renaud stops and tilts his head back, lets out a long, loud howl. A moment later, there's a call back. It's a woman and she's human and she sounds super ticked off. 

"Jesus fucking christ on a cracker, alpha!" she yells. "You're damned lucky I was just finishin' up that brew else I'd be throwing whatever it turned into on your face!" 

Stiles grins, big and wide and bold. If this is Taggart, then she's _awesome_. Cousin Leelee turns her muzzle to him, gives him a look, and Stiles says, "I promise, no bad language," even though he's smiling while he says it. He digs his heels into Camille, who nips at his ankle, and Stiles says, "Oh my god, I'm _sorry_ , okay, I just wanna meet her, come _on_." 

Cousin Leelee yips out a laugh and Renaud whines though Stiles knows he's groaning, and Camille just huffs and starts moving again, following Renaud through the last of the trees and into a small clearing around a house built on stilts. 

The front door bangs open a moment later and the woman who comes out is old, older than Aunt 'Rina, though she's not too old to stomp down the steps, cross the distance to Renaud, and tap him between the ears, a hard tap that is maybe nearly a slap but not quite? There has to be a word for that. Stiles needs to figure out what that word is because he has a feeling it's going to be useful in the future. 

"Brewing shit for your pack, stupid alpha," she grumps. She's close enough now that Stiles can pick out her smell -- and she does have a smell, even though she's not family, something like -- like water and apples and pack and something that makes Stiles sneeze when he inhales a little deeper to try and figure it out. "Making all that racket, distractin' me like that. Make me fuck it up, I'll let the women tear it outta you, won't even need to get my own hands dirty." 

Renaud licks her and the woman -- it must be Taggart, it has to be -- drops to one knee, wraps her arms around Renaud, rubs her cheek against his muzzle, brushes their noses together. 

"Come back to a form that I can talk at," Taggart tells him. She eyes Camille, then raises an eyebrow when she sees Cousin Leelee, and her gaze fixes on Stiles for a moment, a long moment, that has Stiles sliding off of Camille and standing uncertainly next to his wolf. 

Renaud and Cousin Leelee shift back almost in sync, Camille following a moment later, and Renaud tells her, "Emissary. I told you 'bout Stiles; this is him."

Taggart looks Stiles up and down, says, "One of Ekaterini's, yeah, you told me. Didn't tell me about that," and she gestures at Camille's neck. 

Stiles can feel his hackles raise, can feel the stirring of his _bakkheia_ at the dismissive way Taggart took in and then referred to the claiming bite. He bares his teeth, is about to say something, but Camille squeezes Stiles' shoulder, says, "He gave it to me last summer and I ain't done nothing to break the bond. I ain't gonna, neither." Taggart looks at Camille and Camille holds the gaze, finally inclines his head, says, "Taggart. Good to see you." 

Something in Taggart eases with his words, melts with the greeting, and she waves the wolves off and then does the same to Cousin Leelee just by virtue of ignoring her. She steps close to Stiles, until their toes are almost touching, and Stiles meets her eyes, tilts his head to the side just a little to give her his neck. He might be a baby Pan with a growing _bakkheia_ but she's _pack witch_ ; Stiles doesn't need anyone to tell him that she deserves his respect -- even if this meeting isn't going at all like he expected it to. 

"So," Taggart says, and her tone is completely different now, is welcoming and friendly and sort of entrancing. Stiles doesn't understand. "This is the baby Pan my pack and forest have been telling me about, huh." Her hair starts, like, _dancing_ and sparks shoot out of her fingertips and her eyes flash Hawkeye-purple. Stiles is fascinated. "'Bout time the alpha brought you to meet me." 

"You are," Stiles says, "so cool. Why'd you act so mean just, like, a minute ago? Were you trying to scare me off? Were you trying to see if I was gonna do something? Are you mad I bit Cam without asking first, because I was kind of coming out of my first big _bakkheia_ \-- even if it was mostly powered by the tree -- but I still knew what I was doing and I don't think Cam was really all that surprised, 'cause he asked me why _then_ , like he thought maybe I should've either done it way sooner or waited even longer, but it felt right and I wanted to and I still want to, even when Cam dunks me in the river and gets mud in my hair; I don't think I won't ever not want to not -- or, you know, that was lot of negatives and I'm not sure if that was the right number of negatives? But you know what I mean. Right? I mean, you do, don't you?" 

Taggart eyes him a moment longer, then the scowl breaks and she smiles big and Stiles isn't old enough to fall in love but he does, then, just a teensy bit. "Hey, little one," she says. "Come give your pack witch a hug." 

Stiles does and he leans into it with a happy sigh as she wraps her arms tight around him and gives him the best hug that anyone outside of the family ever has, even better than Cam's, even better than dad's. Something between them sparks, flares up hot and sweet in his nose; he whines and wiggles closer and she lets him, does half the work of pulling him in. "Hi," he murmurs, face pressed into her. "I'm Stiles. I think I love you." 

"I think I love you, too, pup," she tells him, running a hand through his hair. "You're mine now, 'kay?" 

"Mmkay," Stiles tells her. He almost halfway means it. 

He thinks she does, too.


End file.
